As promised, here is the first scene of "The Golden Harp and the Beanstalk" that I wrote and published in 2013:
“Fresh milk!” the boy called out.
He pulled his wagon into the market square, begrudging the mere four pints he had available for sale, but more worried about any news he might receive regarding his friends―the boys and girls who’d gone missing over the past two months.
“Four pints of fresh milk!”
A burly man, several times larger than the young man, walked up. “Hello, Jack. Do you have a pint for a cut of beef today?”
“Sorry, Bartholomew,” Jack said, hoping his dejected look wouldn’t spoil his chances for future trades. “My mom wants me to get fresh vegetables.”
“Not much chance of that today, unless you’re looking for sprouts. Leona has cabbage, but won’t sell for less than a silver. Probably won’t get that much with only four pints.”
The boy’s shoulders slumped. “I hate letting this go to waste.”
“Same here. A few foreigners here today, though; might be able to sell to one, if you can get ahead of the competition. Sad day when a hero’s son is left to fend for himself. What’ve you got left from your father’s inheritance?”
“Just enough for my taxes. Ten silvers.”
As Jack spoke, the sound of royal fanfare rang through the clearing, and both he and his butcher friend turned to see a carriage turn into the square, stopping at the main entrance of the bazaar.
“Maybe you should ask your girlfriend,” Bartholomew said. “She may have something for you to do, boy, even if it isn’t milk related.”
“She’s not my girlfriend!”
Just then, the princess stepped out of the carriage and started looking around. Before his father’s tragic death during the recent war Alltheria fought against Murretha, Jack had attended school with the princess, and they’d become good friends. Now, clothed in little more than rags, he doubted she’d even recognize him―and hoped she wouldn’t.
“She won’t even remember who I am,” Jack said.
As he spoke, however, she looked up, lifted her skirts, and headed straight toward him, sidetracked only long enough to avoid a large puddle of mud. Two female courtiers followed, clearly annoyed.
“Hello, Jack,” she said, her voice as sweet as ever.
He looked into her beautiful green eyes for a moment, absolutely terrified of humiliating himself further; her guards reached them, both clearly unhappy about her impetuous behavior.
“I’ve missed you at school,” she said.
He felt himself blush, but didn’t speak.
“The palace has need of milk; what will you take for these?” She lifted two pints from his wagon. “How would four silvers do?”
He looked into her face with surprise and concern. “They aren’t even worth a half-silver, Your Highness,” he replied, his voice somehow steady despite his trembling.
Bartholomew tried to stifle an amused snicker.
“A copper a pint is the best I can ask for,” Jack said. “I won’t cheat you.”
“Or anyone else, either,” the princess said. “Very well, one silver, and no taxes for a month.”
She turned to one of the guards, handing the lithe woman the milk, then opened her hand to the other and took a silver piece from her.
“It isn’t cheating if you aren’t setting the terms of the deal,” the princess said.
She walked around the wagon and reached toward Jack’s face, but he pulled back so she wouldn’t soil her hand.
“Have I become repulsive to you, Jack?”
“No, Your Highness,” he said weakly, unsure of her intentions. “It would be improper for me to spoil your beauty with my filth.”
Her eyes flared. “Oh, and what filth is that? And what’s this ridiculous ‘Your Highness’ thing all about? On the first few days of school, way back when we were little, I wouldn’t have given you a second look, but I haven’t been ‘Your Highness’ to you for seven years now. I was your friend; I would like to be your friend still. It’s not your fault your father died, leaving you destitute; you aren’t diseased, just unfortunate. How much money do you have?”
“Only ten silvers, Your―” Her eyes narrowed. “Um, Adrianna.”
She pressed the coin she held into his hand.
“Eleven now,” he said, “but I need it for taxes.”
“Nonsense. I’ll speak to Grandfather tonight. I’m sure we can work out some way to ease the pressure on all our citizens without taxing them to death.”
Her eyes softened and she reached up with both hands, cupping his cheeks before he could pull away again.
“Jack, I know things are tough for you right now. They’re tough for everyone, but don’t give up. We need good men, like you, to keep us strong and help us heal from the war. I’ll do my part, but you need to do yours too. Take care of your cattle.”
He blushed again. “Cow, Ad ... Adrianna. I’ve had to sell all the others. All I have left is this wagon and Bessie.”
“Oh! I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. You have a lot to worry about too. I wish I knew what was happening to all of our friends from school: Kimberly, Maurice, Alexander, Paul. You must be worried more than I am.”
“I doubt that. Alice disappeared last night too.”
He swallowed, feeling nervous.
“Promise me you won’t give up, Jack, no matter how difficult things get, no matter how hard it is. Promise me you will keep going.”
He looked into her eyes for a moment, then gave her a small nod and said, “Okay.”
She smiled, then let go and returned to her escorts, and went to another stall. Jack let out a nervous sigh.
“Fresh milk!” he called out. “Two pints of fresh milk!”
Bartholomew grabbed one. “For my beef. Use the silver for the cabbage.”
He walked over to his stall and brought a nice-sized steak back.
“Don’t give up, boy. You’ll do fine.”
He returned to his stall, then motioned one of his customers to Jack.
“One pint of fresh milk!”
I hope to provide contributors with my writings in my science fiction/fantasy polyverse. I intend to post the opening scene of my first novella, the Golden Harp and the Beanstalk soon, then make other material available as my efforts progress.
I also intend to present my thoughts on a variety of subjects including politics, religion, and society from time to time, but my focus will be on my writings.
I am hoping to find time to make posting on locals a regular thing again, but I am unsure of how to arrange my schedule for this due to a number of things that are happening in my life right now. Among these, my father is literally on his deathbed, and may pass at any time, I am doing my best to preserve all of the music my father wrote for posterity, and I'm trying to keep myself up with my own writing. My father's declining health has greatly contributed to keeping me from posting over the past two years. If I am again delinquent in posting, understand that it is not because I don't care, it's just because I haven't figured out how to better organize my time.
A post on quora.com from a person in despair prompted me to write the following post. I should point out that this person expressed fear that he or she had committed the unpardonable sin, and there were other answers to his post that I felt were inadequate for assuring him about the love of God. Here is my response:
Blasphemy against the Holy Ghost is a very difficult concept that is often misunderstood and misdiagnosed, in great part becuase Satan, the father of all lies, wants it to remain unknown and drive people into despair. Despite what many others who have answered this question have postulated about the nature of this sin, it is not, and has never been, attributing Christ’s healing power to Satan, which, while sinful, can be forgiven. The Apostle Paul, who once persecuted the disciples of Christ as agents of Satan, believing they used that power to perform miracles, repented of this sin and became one of Christ’s most loyal followers. He did commit a form of blasphemy, that of ...
